


Fleeting

by petitecanard



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Hermione Granger, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitecanard/pseuds/petitecanard
Summary: Hermione walked away when she saw him. She didn't have time for hallucinations. But he uttered "Hermione" in such a tone that hallucination or not she turned around and looked at Harry Potter for the first time in years.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Fleeting

_Now_ Hermione saw him just as Mrs. Augusta Wilkes breathed in her ear, “that’s the wizard I was telling you about, the _mysterious_ one who Fawley knows. . . .”

Hermione walked away, intent on leaving the ballroom. She didn’t have time for hallucinations. She would have left the ballroom entirely if he hadn’t uttered “Hermione” in such a tone that hallucination or not she turned around and looked at Harry Potter for the first time in six years.

They both looked different. 

* * *

_Then_ the glittering objects in Bellatrix’s vault were piling too fast and Hermione was alone in drowning amongst them. Ron and Harry had left to unleash the dragon in desperate hope of saving Hermione and the cup, and, and, and, _and_ everything was happening too fast. 

Hermione took a last, desperate step to the cup, Gryffindor’s sword in her fist, the remains of Slytherin’s locket on her chest. As her burning fingers grasped one of the golden handles of the cup she blacked out.

* * *

_Now_ Hermione felt everyone in the ballroom, her ballroom, looking at her and Harry, who was neither an hallucination nor an apparition, when he put his hand on hers and said, again, “Hermione.”

“Hello,” Edouard said, stepping in smoothly like he always did. Hermione wasn’t even surprised anymore that he was always in the worst place at the worst time. “I didn’t realize you knew my wife.”

“Wife?” Harry said, hand tightening on Hermione’s so tightly she could feel the pads of his fingers through her silk gloves.

“I’m Edouard Lestrange, Hermione’s husband. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“ _Ed,_ ” Hermione said reproachfully, just so Edouard would flick his eyes at her in irritation, as he always did when she shortened his name. Meeting Edouard’s familiar gaze was easier than seeing Harry’s reproachful, bewildered face, his eyebrows drawn together as if nothing made sense. 

* * *

_Then_ Hermione woke up in a magical hospital and nothing made sense.

It didn’t take long for Hermione’s analytical brain to realize she was in an alternate universe. 

The first clue was that the Ministry was not putting her in Azkaban. Second, she woke up in a hospital called _Shafiq Memorial Hospital_ , which she had never heard of. The third, most damning clue was the entrance of a tall, viciously handsome man who paused outside the hospital door and asked a nurse how his fiancé was doing. 

“She’s awake, Mr. Lestrange,” the nurse said, and the man walked into room as Hermione squeaked, “fiancé?”

With just a sharp look from Mr. Lestrange, who was dressed in finely tailored robes, the nurses in the room scurried out. 

“Yes, fiancé.” Mr. Lestrange smiled in an unassuring way, his eyes piercing critically into Hermione. “You were found in the Lestrange vault with no one to claim you-”  


“So you-”

“-and it’s really only the proper thing, for me to offer my protection, especially since I am in need of a wife.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You were in my vault so either you accept my gracious proposal or you go to Azkaban for theft.” The man was now standing next to Hermione’s bed, too close for comfort, especially since Hermione felt a violent need to throw up on his polished shoes. 

“I don’t know who the bloody hell you are or what the bloody hell is going on.”

“I’m Edouard Lestrange. You are?”

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione said, frowning.

“Hermione Lestrange,” he said, the name moving languidly through his aristocratic drawl. “Gorgeous.”

“No, it’s not! I’m leaving!” Hermione was aghast, her brain hardly working from shock.

“You’re either leaving for Lestrange Manor or Azkaban, sweetheart. No, sweetheart sounds wrong. Does darling work for you?”

Hermione looked around the bare hospital room, wildly searching for a sign that this was an absurd nightmare. “You’re insane.”

“I like you quite more than I anticipated, Hermione,” the madman in front of Hermione said blithely. “Once we spin the right story you’ll be the toast of wizarding society.”

“I’m muggleborn,” Hermione waved her scarred arm, hoping for once her blood-status would help her out of an impossible situation. 

Edouard’s eyes rested on the angry gash marks. “I don’t care about blood, I care about my two motherless boys, magic, power, and not marrying the seventeen year old twit who my Great-Aunt Yvette wants me to marry. You, Hermione,” Edouard leaned in, catching her in his gaze, “have magic, power, and don’t seem to be a twit. ” 

It was oddly touching. 

* * *

_Now_ Harry murmured, ”Hermione.” His eyes were still intent on hers although he had brought his hand back to his side when Edouard had come over. Edouard had now tucked his hand into the crook of Hermione’s arm, drawing her into his side, playing the part of a possessive husband when they both knew the truth of their marriage, their relationship, was something else entirely.

“Harry, welcome to our ball,” Hermione said graciously, wanting to get Edouard’s and Harry’s attention away from each other. She longed to Apparate away with Harry to anywhere, even to the godforsaken Forest of Dean. She turned to Edouard, a challenging tilt to her chin. “Edouard, please make sure Rodolphus talks to Mr. Fawley, you know Rodolphus is interested in research at the Ministry.”

“Quite right, darling.”

“I’m here with Mr. Fawley, actually,” Harry said.

“How?” Hermione stuttered. 

“I’ve been working with the Department of Mysteries,” Harry said, green eyes boring into her as if there was so much more on his mind. The Harry that Hermione had last known was not nearly so self-controlled. Harry now looked older, more confident, and, Hermione admitted, more handsome. The way Hermione’s eyes were drawn appreciatively to was Harry another surprise of the evening. Age and mystery looked good on him. Or perhaps Hermione was now, confusingly, attracted to Harry because she had been in this philandering world for too long. 

“Fascinating,” Edouard said in clipped syllables. 

“Truly,” Hermione stepped away from Edouard’s side, towards Harry. “I’ll introduce you to my step-son, Rodolphus, he’s young but he’s already fascinated by the Department of Mysteries. Edouard, I do believe Mrs. Rosier is searching for a dance partner.”

Edouard twitched his full lips at Hermione’s casual mention of one of his mistresses. “But I still don’t know our guest’s name.”

“Mr. Peverell,” Harry said, sticking out his hand. 

“Really?” Edouard said, firmly shaking it. “Any relation to the long died out Peverells?”

Harry withdrew his hand uncomfortably. “Something like that.”

“Hmmm,” Edouard regarded Harry with his penetrating gaze that Hermione hadn’t gotten used after six years of being married to the man, “I will go see to Mrs. Rosier, but remember Hermione, you promised me another dance.”

“I know,” Hermione murmured, pulling Harry away. 

“Jesus Christ, Hermione,” Harry snapped immediately. 

“Shhhh,” Hermione hissed, checking to see if anyone was close enough to hear them. 

“You are Hermione Granger, aren’t you?” Harry said, voice only a bit quieter, but still on the edge of angry.

Hermione frowned. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not really his bloody wife.”

“You’re wearing a wedding ring,” Harry argued, which was a good point. 

“Well, I guess I am. But you don’t understand.” 

_“Obviously.”_

“Let me explain. Just not here, not _now._ Where are you staying?”

“In Muggle London.” He told her the address.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I’ll meet you there tonight, no it will be tomorrow morning. Merlin, I have a lot to tell you. And you have a lot to tell me, too. I thought you were an hallucination I was so surprised to see you.” Hermione’s heart was still pounding in her chest from the adrenaline of seeing Harry.

“Why not tonight?”

“By the time this ball ends I’ll be half-delirious, Harry.” And Hermione already had plans.

“Okay.”

Hermione leaned to whisper closer to Harry’s ear. “Rodolphus is right over there. This is an _alternate_ universe, okay? Nothing makes sense, so just follow my lead.”

* * *

_Then_ Edouard asked, “so, your thoughts?” 

Hermione was primarily consumed with thoughts of the delicious food spread in front of her which Edouard had provided after claiming that it was uncivilized to talk business on an empty stomach. It make Hermione feel kinder toward him when she had a full stomach, especially after months of starving on burnt fish. 

“My thoughts on your insanity?” Hermione answered. 

“You’re quick. That will endear you to my social circles.”

“I haven’t said yes to marrying you,” Hermione said, exasperated by Edouard’s arrogance. Still, and this was probably just the thought of a warm bed and warm food every night, Hermione could imagine worse things than being Mrs. Lestrange. She could hardly research how to get back to her universe while in Azkaban.

“You will.” Edouard smiled, self-assurance palpable. Merlin, he was an irritating man. 

“May I call you Ed?”

“No.”

“Ed, I need more information.”

“I expect nothing less of you.”

“Right. Could you explain again why you want to marry _me?_ ”

So Edouard told Hermione about how his first wife, Rosamund Parkinson, had died shortly after giving birth to his younger son Rabastan five years ago. Hermione hadn’t known the details of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange in her universe, but she had a feeling it had been different from the story Edouard was giving her, and the timelines were off too. It was 1906 in Britain right now. 

Edouard’s domineering Great-Aunt Yvette, the matriarch of the Lestrange family, wanted Edouard to marry some random French pureblood she had found. Edouard did not want a wife who would expect him to be a proper husband. 

“Sweet Salazar, Hermione, I would be bored out of my mind, and my sons would be forced to call Leonie Linville _mother_ , and she would expect more children from me. She would be devastated the moment I looked at another woman, much less fucked another woman, and it would be too much for a seventeen year old _child_ to handle being married to a twenty-nine year old with two children.” His exasperation seemed genuine. 

“I’m eighteen,” Hermione pointed out.

“But you’re not a child, are you?”

“No,” Hermione folded her arms over chest defensively, “but I still don’t want to be married to a twenty-nine year old with two children.”

“This won’t be a real marriage. It’s to stop Yvette from using some family compulsion curse to make me marry Leonie Linville. We’ll have separate bedrooms, separate lives. All I would need from you is to attend a few social functions every so often.”

Hermione had read about family compulsion curses. They were barbaric, and Hermione felt an annoying bit of compassion growing for Edouard. “But why me?”

“You’re from an alternate universe, or maybe a different time?” Edouard was calm despite his damning revelation. “So you don’t have any baggage or missing family I need to worry about.”

Hermione laughed. “Alternate universe?”

“You landed in my vault with the three magical artifacts, two of which I am certain are in other places right now.”

Hermione had lied to Bellatrix while under the Cruciatus, so the lie for Edouard fell easily from her lips. “I stole them.”

“No, you didn’t. I checked while you were unconscious. You’re also magical, but no wizarding school has record of a witch matching your description, and since you’re muggleborn you would not have been self-taught. And I can’t imagine another way you would have appeared in my Gringotts vault without any record of entry.”

Hermione swallowed. 

“Tell me, Hermione,” Edouard said, nodding at the raw wounds on Hermione’s arm, “is agreeing to let me take care of you so much worse than whatever you’re dealing in your world?”

“Not really,” Hermione whispered, hating herself for the answer. 

She also despised the self-satisfied smile that crept over Edouard’s face. “Excellent. Now we need a backstory for you, and a glamour for your arm. Do you speak French?”  


“Passably.” 

“Hmmm. I’ll figure something out.”

* * *

_Now_ Hermione greeted her her gangly sixteen year old step-son with real warmth. “Rodolphus, this is Harry Peverell, he is working with the Department of Mysteries.”

It was surreal to be standing beside Harry and Rodolphus while they engaged in a conversation about Ministry jobs. Hermione kept ker attention trained on them, unable to even think about the rest of the guests. Rodolphus was very pleasant for a sixteen year old boy, Hermione thought with pride, and he was also curious, peppering Harry with questions. The strain showing in Harry’s brow relaxed minutely, allowing Hermione to let herself take a deep, calming breath. 

Edouard finished his dance with Mrs. Rosier and came over to them, slipping his hand around Hermione’s arm and ruffling Rodolphus’s hair, the perfect facade of domestic, familial bliss. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed on Edouard. “I should go. It’s late.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Peverell,” Edouard insisted, suddenly a model of hospitality. “You’ve barely been here and there are still so many people for you to meet.”

“I really-“

“Please,” Hermione said, unwilling to lose sight of him already. “Stay longer.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, eyes on Hermione. 

Of course Edouard took that moment to steal Hermione for a dance, leading her away from Harry and Rodolphus.

“Why are you acting possessively in front of Mr. Peverell?” Hermione wondered as Edouard led her through the complicated steps of the dance. “You don’t usually act that way.” 

Edouard frowned, eyes flitting to where Harry was standing. “I know everyone else in your life, but I don’t know this Mr. Peverell. We’ve never had a need to keep secrets from each other before, Hermione.”

“I met him in Diagon Alley the other week.”

Edouard didn’t answer, only frowned as he twirled Hermione around. Finally he said, “I don’t believe you, and I don’t know why.” 

* * *

_Then_ the wedding of Edouard Lestrange and Hermione Granger was, of course, an overwhelming society event, but it distracted Hermione from how much she missed Harry and Ron to be busy with wedding planning and meeting disgustingly rich people. 

The wedding night, which she and Edouard had discussed when they created a contract with the agreed strictures of their marriage, went as expected. Edouard retired to his ostentatious bedroom in Lestrange Manor and Hermione went and cried in her own separate bedroom. 

A few weeks later her mental state crumbled further apart and she found herself crying at nearly everything, up all night with anxious thoughts. Finally, when Edouard Flooed home from Merlin knew where and saw her staring listlessly at a plate of food in one of the dining rooms, he guided her outside to the extensive gardens. “Hermione,” he said, “what do you need? It’s embarrassing if other people find out my beautiful young wife is crying at every moment. You look unhealthy.”

“I’m sure Violetta Black will make you feel better,” Hermione sobbed. 

“Is that what this is about?” Edouard asked, sitting next to Hermione on the marble bench. “We talked about this before the wedding. We can both have affairs and we won’t bother each other about it. If I wanted a nag I would be married to Leonie.”

“No,” Hermione sobbed. “I really don’t care. I just miss _everything._ ”

“When Rosamund died I spent every day in this garden,” Edouard said, surprising Hermione with the softness in his voice. “It takes time, but perhaps that will help you too. I am sorry, Hermione. I’m not cruel enough to keep you in this universe if I knew a way for you to get back.”  


“You threatened me with Azkaban,” Hermione sniffled. “And I prefer books to gardens.”

“Then buy every book you want and redo the library. You’re a Lestrange now, we don’t really abide by budgets. I threatened you with Azkaban to make you marry me, nothing more, nothing less."

“That’s a disgusting trick.”

“If being angry at me makes you feel something, then be angry at me, darling.”

“I will,” Hermione promised, though it felt empty. She found it increasingly difficult to hate Edouard once she was privy to the complex facets of his personality. 

Edouard stared at her for a long moment. “We never went on a honeymoon.”

“Because I’m not interested in doing honeymoon activities with you.”

“I understand what you think of me, Hermione. I’m suggesting we go on a relaxing vacation. Is there anywhere you want to go?”

“I’ve never been anywhere in the Mediterranean,” Hermione whimpered.

“Consider it done.”

* * *

_Now_ when Hermione and Edouard’s dance ended, Harry was talking with Rodolphus and Mr. Fawley. 

“I really must take my leave,” Harry said, once Edouard and Hermione walked back over. Hermione noticed the strain in his expression, and felt bad for asking him to stay longer in a situation that was obviously difficult for him. 

“I understand,” Hermione smiled gently, “the Department of Mysteries must be very tiring.”

“Yes. Well,” Harry paused awkwardly.

Hermione took the moment. “I’ll walk you to the door, Mr. Peverell.”

Harry looked grateful.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He asked when they were halfway to the door. 

“You will,” Hermione affirmed. “I can’t wait to actually talk to you, to explain how all this,” she gestured broadly with her hand, “happened.”

“I imagine it’s a crazy explanation,” Harry’s eyes lingered on Hermione’s glittering wedding ring. “It reminds me of the Yule Ball when I hardly recognized you.”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed, “it’s still me, you know that. And it’s still you.”

“It’s bloody weird.” 

“I know that.” They were at the door so Hermione risked a quick squeeze of Harry’s hand. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

“I love you, Hermione,” Harry said intently. 

“I love you too, Harry. I’ve missed you everyday.”

* * *

_Then_ Edouard found Hermione drunk, alone, in one of the parlors a few days after she turned twenty. He had a silk bathrobe on, and Hermione was fairly certain that the woman who had just Flooed out was Harriet Rowle. 

It would, probably, have been easier to create a fake marriage with someone who looked like a whale, not someone who looked like Edouard Lestrange, the most aristocratically handsome man Hermione had suffered the misfortune of meeting. 

“Why do you look at all those other women,” Hermione said, voice slurring from copious amounts of wine. “But you never look at me that way?” Often Hermione felt achingly lonely in this world, craving human touch, intimacy. As their marriage continued she found her thoughts wandering to Edouard, fantasizing how he would make her feel if they gave each other the chance.

“In what way,” Edouard asked, although he surely knew and there was a certain, primal air to the way he was now towering over her. 

“Like,” Hermione gestured with her hand holding the wine-glass, causing the wine to ripple, “like I’m a sexual being.”

“You most certainly are,” Edouard trailed his manicured hand into Hermione’s hair, playing with a curl. “I will remind you that we both agreed we could carry on affairs, discretely.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, wine forcing her honesty. “What do you expect me to do, Edouard? Visit Cephus Greengrass at his office in the Ministry and say, ‘hi, I’m Hermione and I’m a virgin even though I’ve been married for almost two years to a man who has seduced half of Europe. Please fuck me’?”

Edouard frowned. “I don’t think Cephus is the right choice. I did not realize you were a virgin.”

“The last time I dated someone was when I was fifteen, and it was briefly. He was older, and I was young and, and nothing seemed quite right.” 

“You like older men?” Edouard asked, eyes boring into Hermione’s. She hated that smirk on his face.

Hermione’s cheeks burned with more than alcohol. “I don’t know what I like.”

“Do you want to have sex with me, Hermione?” 

“I don’t know,” she whispered, caught in the trap of his gaze.

“Figure it out, darling,” Edouard traced her lips with a finger, making Hermione squirm with nervousness and something else that pooled in her stomach, and damnit she was a grown woman who had thought about this too often, and _damnit_ she was horny.

“Edouard,” she breathed, indecisive. He was already walking away.

* * *

_Now_ Edouard’s eyes were careful on Hermione as she walked from the door Harry had just left through. She deliberately made her way to him. “Yes, Ed?”

“If you get your mysterious wizard from the Ministry why won’t you let me invite the mysterious wizard from _Borgin & Burke’s_?” 

“Tom Riddle is not to step foot in my house.” 

“I know you don’t like Riddle-”

“-as if anyone could like an evil megalomaniac.”

“You’re adorable when you argue with me,” Edouard tapped a patronizing finger on her nose as Hermione frowned at him, “but you can’t ignore Riddle’s genius.”

“I can,” Hermione growled. “I’ve told you what I think of him.”

Edouard lifted his hand to a free curl hanging from Hermione’s chignon, mindlessly playing with it. “You’ve told me many things, but nothing about Mr. Peverell.”

“Edouard,” Hermione said, exasperated by his mood.

His hand dropped from her hair to grasp her arm arm lightly. “I know everything about everyone in our society, Hermione, but not him. That’s what is irritating. I don’t care that he clearly wants to see you naked in his bed, most men do.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “No, Harry doesn’t think that.”

Edouard continued without acknowledging her rebuttal. “The last person who dropped into Britain who I knew nothing about was you,” he gently turned Hermione so she was against his chest, forced to look into his demanding eyes. “Isn’t that fascinating?”

“It probably has something to do with his job at the Department of Mysteries,” Hermione said, not breaking eye contact. “You know how secretive they are.”

Edouard released her abruptly. “I’ll have to interrogate Mr. Fawley about it when I tell him to give Rodolphus a summer job.”

Hermione nodded absent-mindedly, attention now caught by obvious tension across the room. “Why does someone always want to duel one you, Edouard? Cephus Greengrass and Laurence Wilkes look like they’re conspiring.”

Edouard grinned, a quick, dangerous thing. “I’ll send them to you if either of them try something. Watching you duel always gives me a hard-on.”

“Chivalrous,” Hermione said dryly.

“I’m only being fair. Greengrass was reduced to tears by the speech _you_ wrote for me to give to the Wizengamot, and Wilkes still thinks _I’m_ the one having an affair with his wife.”

“Merlin, really?” Hermione laughed, glad Harry had left before he realized how entrenched she was in pureblood society.

* * *

_Then_ , when paralyzing indecision gave way to steady resolve, Hermione entered Edouard’s bedroom one night. 

“You’ve decided then?” Edouard asked, his easy manner comforting to Hermione’s anxiety. Even if Edouard was infuriatingly arrogant, he was familiar. 

Hermione walked towards the bed. “I have.”

Edouard reached out to her, one sure hand resting on her waist. He knew what he was doing. “I’ve pictured this so many times, darling.”

“You have?” Hermione breathed, enthralled that Edouard, handsome as he was, wanted her in that way, even while the rational part of her knew he was a manipulative bastard who always knew the right words.

“Of course. You know you’re beautiful.” 

Hermione did know she had grown up well, especially once she had filled out and learned how to work with her wild curls. The lingerie she had bought on a whim from a shop in Paris a few months ago didn’t hurt either.Hermione felt vindicated of the purchase when she slipped off her dressing robe, the display of lace making Edouard’s eyes widen. 

“Merlin, you might be the perfect wife,” he said as Hermione attempted to clamber gracefully onto his monstrously large bed. 

Hermione laughed. “Because I want you to fuck me and I don’t care about your other women?”

“Exactly.” Edouard’s smile as he traced his fingers up her leg was wicked. Hermione’s stomach somersaulted, her breath uneven from anticipation.

* * *

_Now_ Edouard brought Hermione a glass of champagne as the ball winded down, Harry long gone. “You have plans tonight?” 

“Thanks. Gussie is staying over,” Hermione said. “You?”

“I’m going to wank off thinking about you and you’re little mistress and then I’m going to obsessively think about who Harry Peverell is,” Edouard said, flippant.

Despite herself, Hermione laughed, nerves from the night edging on the hilarity. “Merlin, you’re the worst.”

Edouard pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. “Don’t forget it, darling.”

* * *

_Then_ Mrs. Augusta “Gussie” Wilkes was not like anyone Hermione would have expected to become romantically entangled with, and not even because Gussie was a woman.

And what a woman. She was all soft curves, feminine glances, and throaty whispers lingering on pouting lips. Gussie was silly. In such an overly serious and wasteful world, laughter was something Hermione craved. 

Gussie and Hermione met at a tea party shortly after Gussie became Mrs. Wilkes. Gussie was a few months older than Hermione, but filled with more youth than Hermione ever had been. They were immediately drawn together, but Gussie in her girlish wisdom understood their tension first. 

It was during a ball at the Parkinsons. Gussie was wearing a dress that dipped far into her décolletage, and Hermione, who always thought she had excellent self-control, couldn’t help but feel like a lecher as she stared. 

In the middle of the ball Gussie took Hermione’s hand in hers and they escaped the ballroom. 

“This feels so rebellious,” she giggled, bringing Hermione into an empty parlor.

“What does?” Hermione asked, stupid from the attraction building inside her. 

“This.” Gussie kissed her and Hermione desperately wondered why they hadn’t done this earlier because it felt so damn _perfect._

“I’ve never been with a woman,” Hermione admitted, biting off a moan when Gussie’s lips took to her jaw. 

“Me neither,” Gussie said, her breathy whisper on Hermione’s sensitive skin. “The first time I saw you I wanted to kiss you, and then I saw you today in this dress and just,” she grinned, an impish slant to her lips that Hermione knew well but felt different in this heated moment, “no reason to wait when you were looking at my breasts as often as I was looking at yours.”

Sometime later, when Hermione returned to the ballroom Edouard, perceptive as he was, noticed the curious flush to Hermione’s cheeks. He merely brushed his thumb against her face and raised an eyebrow. 

Edouard didn’t say anything, perhaps didn’t know, until a few weeks later when he caught Hermione and Gussie in Hermione’s room, both their dresses mostly undone, with Gussie’s mouth trailing down Hermione’s neck. 

“Get out,” Hermione ordered, wishing her voice sounded stronger instead of on the edge of a moan. 

“Must I?” Edouard asked, pausing by the door, surveying their intwined bodies.

“Edouard!” Hermione said, an edge now to her voice. 

He shrugged, posture nonchalant but face alight with amusement and arousal. But he left the room, carefully shutting the door. 

Hermione ran her hands over Gussie’s bare shoulders. “Don’t worry, Gussie. It’s just Edouard.”

“But . . .”

“He doesn’t care,” Hermione insisted, grateful for Edouard. “The worst he will do is tease me.”

When Hermione next saw Edouard alone, which was after dinner, he was sipping firewhiskey with good humor. 

“You impress me, darling.”

Hermione took the glass out of his hands and took a long sip of the expensive liquid. “I’m glad you think so.”

“You know,” Edouard mused, “at one point I thought Gussie Wilkes came over here so often because she was interested in me.”  


“You thought that because you’re an arrogant bastard.”

“Exactly. And I don’t suppose she will let me join you two?”

“No,” Hermione said flatly. “Gussie doesn’t like you much.”

“A pity,” Edouard’s eyes met Hermione’s as he took his glass back. “Does this change anything for us?”

“Don’t worry, Ed,” Hermione teased. “I’m still attracted to the convenience of you being in the room next to mine.”  


“I’m so glad I married you,” Edouard took a glass and decanter to pour her a glass of firewhiskey, “cheers.”

* * *

_Now_ Hermione straddled Gussie on her bed, using heated, desperate kisses to forget everything that had happened at the ball tonight and the decision she was going to make tomorrow when she saw Harry. 

“Who was that new wizard at the ball?” Gussie asked as Hermione’s quick fingers undid her dress robes. 

“That’s what you want to talk about?” Hermione demanded breathlessly. Right now all she wanted was mindless pleasure, so she brought her mouth to Gussie’s exposed breast, knowing exactly how to drive them both to oblivion. 

“Merlin, Hermione,” Gussie whimpered, “don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, love.” 

* * *

_Then_ Rabastan followed Rodolphus to Hogwarts, so Edouard, with too much time on his hands, decided to devote himself to politics. Rather, Hermione told Edouard to take the Lestrange seat in the Wizengamot so she could pass the legislation she wanted to. Edouard grudgingly agreed once Hermione accepted that she would also help him bring down his rivals. 

They were a ruthless team together, and Hermione reveled in the political work. She was mostly resigned to being stuck in this universe. She had learned the theory behind jumping universes, but didn’t know the important facet of landing in the right one. Hermione still woke up with thoughts of her old life, old universe, but was able to file those away using her new routine. The politics helped a lot. 

* * *

_Now_ Hermione stepped smoothly out of Harry’s Floo into a bare kitchen. “Good, you’re here,” she said when she spotted Harry sipping a cup of tea. “I have a list of questions.”

Harry, looking relieved, smiled when he saw her. “Ha, of course you do.”

Hermione swooped down and hugged Harry tight. “Good morning.”

“Look, Hermione. I’m here to bring you home, because since Voldemort died-”

“You defeated him?” Hermione asked eagerly. It had been on her list of questions.

“Yea, a few days after you disappeared,” Harry looked proud and bashful at once, “we thought you were dead but then Bill searched through the Gringotts rubble and realized you weren’t dead. We’ve been looking for you ever since, and I want you to come back with me. But I didn’t realize you have a family and now it seems different, with the Lestranges, which I just don’t understand . . .”

“I’m going home with you,” Hermione interrupted, sure in her decision. “So I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“Oh,” Harry deflated and then hugged her. “Thank Merlin. I wasn’t sure.”

“What? I’ve built a life here, but it’s not it’s not the life I _want_. You’re everything to me, Harry. My family is in the other universe. This? It’s a confusing dream I fell into.” The decision had been surprisingly easy once given to Hermione. While she wasn’t miserable in this universe, comparing the future it held to the future possible in her home universe made her certain leaving was the right choice. 

“But, Edouard?”

Hermione paused. “Edouard is . . . well I suppose he trapped me into marriage.”

“He trapped you into marriage?” Harry asked, disbelieving. “How? I’ll kill him.”

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Harry. Edouard could be worse. Well, I don’t think I have Stockholm Syndrome.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. But how did you find me anyway?” Hermione asked the question her curiosity had been begging her to ask. 

It rankled, once Harry told her how he found her, that he had figured out how to jump universes before she did, even if he did have the workforce and resources of the Ministry behind him and no annoying husband and stepsons to deal with. And an extra year, apparently, as seven years had passed in Harry’s universe instead of the six in this one. 

The Ministry had tracked the unique magical signatures of the sword, cup, and locket to her universe so they knew which one to travel to. Harry had used his knowledge of dimensions to get a job at the Department of Mysteries once in this universe, which he had hoped would help him find Hermione. Harry was desperate to leave this universe with Hermione, once she had said she wanted to leave. 

“Not yet, Harry,” she cautioned. “There’s some lose threads.”

He groaned. “Like what?”

“Riddle still exists.”

Harry paled. 

Hermione continued. “I’ve kept him from gaining influence in pureblood society, but I think he still has horcruxes.”

“Seriously , Hermione,” Harry whined. “I just want to bring you home.”

“I know. But Edouard has the sword in our vault, so we can get that. It won’t take long to get the Horcruxes, I know where they are. I’ve just been figuring out how best to stop Riddle. I think if we get the Horcruxes and destroy them, I can give them to the Wizengamot, or Edouard, and they’ll arrest Riddle.”

“Fine.”

“It shouldn’t take long, I promise,” Hermione assured, because Harry was clearly impatient. 

* * *

_Then_ it was their fifth wedding anniversary and Edouard brought Hermione to the spot in wizarding Italy where they had enjoyed their honeymoon. This trip was different from the first one, when Hermione had only focused on trying to feel less anxious and adrift in this universe. 

This second time Edouard showered her with physical attention, which Hermione had expected. She was, however, surprised by the endless gifts, because neither of them were romantic, at least not in this relationship. She asked him one night, as they lay in bed, Hermione only clad in a matching set of glorious diamond earrings and a necklace. 

“Why are you giving me all this jewelry?”

Edouard turned over, kissing her cheek lightly as his fingers traced the necklace. “So Great-Aunt Yvette doesn’t take it from the Lestrange vault and give it to a family member I despise.”

“Good. I was worried you were trying to seduce me.”

Edouard laughed, a surprisingly pleasant sound from a perpetually closed off man. “We’re a bit past that, aren’t we, Mrs. Lestrange?”

“As Mrs. Lestrange can I request rubies from the vault?” 

“You don’t like the diamonds? I think they quite suite you.” 

Hermione stretched out, highlighting her nakedness. “You say that because I have nothing else on.”

Edouard sat up, tantalizingly drawing his gaze up and down her body. “No, I think it’s the diamonds.”

Hermione giggled. “So I should put more clothes on?”

“Don’t you dare.” Edouard braced himself over her so he could better angle his mouth onto hers. He hitched up her thigh, mouth drawing away from her tender lips. “I gave you the jewellry because it’s our wedding anniversary, and I’m quite glad I married you.”

“So,” Hermione panted through a moan that Edouard elicited from her, “you’ll give me rubies?”

Edouard pinched her. “Don’t be naughty, darling.”

* * *

_Now,_ leaving Harry in the hallway, Hermione walked into Edouard’s office with a bottomless bag and prepared herself for an uncomfortable conversation. 

“I lied to you.”

Edouard, sitting at his desk, looked up. “About what, darling?”

“Harry Peverell.”

“Yes, you did. Who is he really, Hermione?”

Hermione perched herself on Edouard’s side of the desk. “He’s from the universe I’m from. His name is Harry Potter.” It felt good, almost cathartic, to say it aloud. 

Edouard’s eyebrows rose. “That is a surprise.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “Harry was, is my best friend from home.”

Edouard nodded, making Hermione wish she knew what he was thinking. 

Hermione bit her lip. “There’s more.”

“I didn’t expect there to be _less._ ”

“Harry defeated a Dark Wizard in my universe. The Dark Wizard was named Tom Riddle, and he had horcruxes.” 

“He split his soul?” Edouard asked, properly disgusted.

“Yes, but Harry got rid of the Horcruxes. That’s why I despised this universe’s Tom Riddle. Over the past two days Harry and I found the horcruxes from this universe’s Riddle, because some things don’t change. We destroyed them, but I would like you to present them to the Wizengamot as evidence for Riddle’s arrest.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Yes.”

“Is Mr. Potter going to leave now that the horcruxes are taken care of?”

“Yes,” Hermione took a deep breath, placing her hand on Edouard’s. “I’m leaving with him.”

“No,” Edouard said flatly, all the privilege of always getting what he wanted blatant in the richness of his voice. 

“Edouard, this isn’t my home.” 

“Yes it is,” he growled, clasping her wrist in his tight grip, “why isn’t it? You would leave me? After I’ve given you everything?”

Hermione catapulted off the desk, away from her husband. “You gave me a spare room and I took everything else from sheer will! You know that.”

“What do you expect me to do when you’re gone? Pretend I got rid of you and find a new, less annoying wife?” Edouard growled, the closest to yelling Hermione had ever seen him. 

“I’m sorry it’s inconvenient for me to leave,” Hermione seethed, clenching her fists. “But you once told me that you weren’t cruel enough to keep me in this universe if you knew a way for me to leave. I’ve found a way to leave now!”

“That was before I fell in love with you.”

There was silence in the room after Edouard’s proclamation, Hermione narrowing her eyes at Edouard. “You’re not in love with me.”

“Perhaps not in the way a husband is usually in love with his wife,” Edouard admitted, standing up and gesturing to her, “but I still don’t want you to go.”

“Oh, Edouard.” Righteous anger left Hermione abruptly. She walked back to where Edouard was behind the desk, retaking his hand in hers. “I am sorry. But I have to leave.”

Edouard drew her closer. “You’re fine here.” 

“I am. But I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing,” Hermione shook her head, “this playacting.” 

“What will I tell the boys? Gussie? Everyone else?”

Hermione considered the question, leaning back on the desk with Edouard close enough for her to revel in the smell of his cologne. It was a final, intimately familiar position for them. “Gussie won’t understand. Tell everyone I died tragically. I’d like that.”

“I’ll make it horribly tragic for you, darling.”

“You’re so romantic.”

“Aren’t I?” Edouard cupped her face in his hands with a delicate touch, drawing her into a long, painfully melancholy kiss. “I’m going to miss you. Take the jewellry so Great-Aunt Yvette doesn’t get her talons on it.” 

“In a way I do love you, Edouard.”

“It is marvelous jewelry.”

Hermione kissed him again, pressing her body flush against his, greedy for a last moment. “Yes, that’s why.”

“I love you too,” Edouard admitted, tone casual as always, “I don’t think I’ll find a better wife.”

“Leonie Linville is no longer a child.”

Edouard looked nauseous at the thought. “Don’t tease. I’m going to use my grief at the tragic death of my beloved wife to never get married again.”

“Maybe another girl will drop into your Gringotts vault.”

“Merlin,” Edouard chuckled, “I hope I don’t spend the rest of my life with a various stream of misplaced women. I’ll help you pack your belongings so Mr. Potter doesn’t put his hands on all the expensive things I’ve given you.”

Hermione put the horcruxes in a locked safe in Edouard’s office before they walked down the hallway to where Hermione had deposited Harry, who now looked very anxious. Hermione spied a strip of something flesh-colored that Harry stuffed in his pocket, recognizing it as an Extendable Ear. A sudden wave of anger crashed through Hermione at the realization that Harry had surely listened in on her private conversation. 

“Hermione! Good,” Harry’s eyes flitted between the close stance of Edouard and Hermione, “I heard yelling.”

“I’m very upset that you’re stealing my wife,” Edouard said. 

Harry, who quite obviously disliked Edouard, clenched his jaw and stayed silent. The odd trio walked through the maze of the Manor together, Hermione walking beside Edouard with Harry behind them as she silently cataloged every memory of the house.

Once in her bedroom Edouard raised his wand. “What would you like to bring with you?”

“I don’t need the dress robes, I won’t wear them,” Hermione thought aloud. 

“You’re more likely to need them than I,” Edouard said.

Hermione smiled. “Alright, I’ll bring everything. You’re sure about the jewelry?”

“Yes, keep it. I know you love that ruby choker.”

“Thank you, Edouard,” Hermione said softly as he raised his wand and muttered a spell.

“Holy shit,” Harry murmured as he saw the mass of belongings Hermione had collected; dresses flew out of closets, jewelry into boxes, and all folded themselves neatly into fashionable packing boxes that appeared. Hermione was vaguely embarrassed to see her lingerie collection fly by Harry’s nose. 

Edouard surveyed the quick work with satisfaction. Hermione tapped the numerous boxes with her wand, charming them to shrink, lose weight, and appear in her handbag. 

At the central Floo fireplace of Lestrange Manor, Edouard kissed Hermione again. She would have enjoyed the sensation more if Harry wasn’t right there, glaring at them. Edouard stood to his full height after pulling away and suddenly punched Harry with a stronger right hook than Hermione knew he had.

Hermione flinched. “Edouard!” 

“Fucking Merlin!” Harry roared, pointing his wand at Edouard as his other hand held his eye.

“Hermione would have been upset if I actually cursed you,” Edouard shrugged despite the skyrocketing tension in the room, “but I hope that hurts.”

Harry had the virulent expression of someone hoping for a fight. “You’re a bloody psychopath, and I’ve held my tongue, Hermione, but you can’t let him get away with forcing you to marry him! That’s insane.”

Edouard smirked. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

“Harry, let’s go,” Hermione snapped, exasperated with them both. “I want to go home. Edouard, I’m disappointed. Now my last memory is going to be of you punching Harry.”

The salacious way Edouard looked at Hermione, as if he was undressing her the way he done many times before, was unmistakeable. “We can fix that.”  


“That’s it,” Harry snarled, brandishing his fist and punching Edouard in the nose. 

Hermione, using her wand like the witch she was, cast _Protego_ between the men who each trying to throw another punch, forcing them apart. “Seriously, Edouard? Go plan my tragic death.”

Edouard grinned, looking terrifying with blood dripping into his mouth from his nose. “Right away, darling.” He turned around, walking back into the depths of Lestrange Manor. 

Hermione swore, quickly following him. “Edouard, wait.”

He turned around. 

Hermione tapped her wand on his face, instantly healing him. “I’ll miss you.” 

Edouard caressed her cheek. “Hermione either you stay, or you need to leave now.”

She nodded, not trusting her words. 

Edouard gently kissed her a last time. “I’ll enjoy telling Great-Aunt Yvette that all the family jewelry is gone.”

“Good.” Hermione squeezed his hand and turned back around to Harry, already feeling the finality of her decision to leave. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, his concern touching even though Hermione wasn’t in the mood for dealing with his incomprehension of the situation.

“Let’s go home, Harry.” Hermione’s stomach was roiling although she was certain this was the correct decision. 

“You’re ready?” His expression was painfully tender. 

Hermione nodded, firm in her resolve. “Yes, I’ve been ready for six years.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is a bit of an experiment in writing for me. It was fun to write, so I hope it's also fun to read. 
> 
> This is also posted on fanfiction. net. (I'm slowly putting my stuff on ao3). pls lmk if the formatting is weird. 
> 
> Happy 2021!!


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